Chapter 4
Kyle
Now
It turns out Jeff’s a decent guy, helping me choose a completely new, and more tasteful, bathroom.
I decide on a timeless and elegant design that is primarily white with touches of black, including a freestanding soaking tub that is romantic and sophisticated.
To avoid being a total bitch, I decide to keep one thing James wanted, and select a rain showerhead that matches the new theme.
Jeff is surprisingly chatty for a straight man, is of average height, and perhaps in his mid-thirties. Deciding to take advantage of the situation, I cultivate a keen interest in Beautiful Bathrooms, and Jeff’s boss, asking as many questions as I think I can get away with.
To my credit, I discover that Bren’s husband’s name is Chris, and they’ve been married six or seven years.
Bren started the business about the same time he got married, and it seems to be going great—the business and the marriage.
I’m happy to hear the business is going well, but not so much about the marriage.
Chris is an accountant, and he does the bookkeeping for the business, which Jeff reckons saves them loads of money.
They don’t have any kids and live in Frankston North, not far from the Beautiful Bathrooms showroom.
It’s hard to believe Bren has laid down roots so close to his childhood foster home, with all the fucking trauma and shit memories.
For the life of me I can’t wrap my head around Bren being married to an accountant, so as soon as Jeff leaves, I open my laptop and spend the rest of the morning researching.
Well, stalking to be more precise. I’ve never dared to stalk Bren online before, too scared of what I might find, although it has crossed my mind many, many times.
Turns out it wouldn’t have yielded much information anyway—Bren has no social media to speak of, and the only evidence of him on the internet is his business website and associated reviews.
Chris Walker, however, is a slightly different story.
Chris has multiple platforms going—unfortunately, most are set to private—but I do discover that Chris works for Waterstone Financial Services in Frankston.
Even though I’m not one hundred percent sure why I’m doing it, I record the business name and address.
After that, I study his profile photos—immediately wishing I didn’t—because there’s not only a romantic wedding photo, but one of Chris kissing Bren’s cheek while Bren smiles at the camera like the happiest man on the motherfucking earth.
I try to swallow down my jealousy, but I may as well be eating razor blades.
At least I now know what this Chris looks like.
He’s a couple of inches taller than Bren, reddish-brown hair, and has a slim build.
I can’t deny that his green eyes are kind of nice, but, overall, Chris is only slightly above average-looking.
The clean-cut, boy-next-door type, leaning slightly towards femme in a way that only other queers recognise.
Chris does seem a little on the sub side for Bren’s taste, but maybe Chris’s outward appearance is just deceiving.
I’d need to see him walk and talk and interact to get a clearer picture.
Since there’s no way I’m giving up after one ignored text, I call Bren after lunch. It rings and rings and eventually goes to voicemail, so I leave a message.
“Hey Bren, I didn’t hear back from you last night. I’d love to catch up for a beer or a coffee. It’s been, what, twenty years, man…” I hesitate, unsure how to wrap it up. “Um…can you text me? Or call? Either is fine… It was really great seeing you.”
Embarrassed by the emotion creeping into my voice, I quickly end the call and throw my phone down on the table. My message went from sounding like an old drinking buddy to a jilted lover in the space of ten seconds. Fuck, I’m an idiot.
In the afternoon, I get some housework done, hit the gym, and then pick Lu up from school. When I get a text from James saying he’s working late at the office, a stupid idea pops into my head, and I tell Lu I’m going out for a drink with a friend.
What the hell I’m doing, I have no clue. But I have more energy than I’ve had in years, sparks of excitement dancing over my skin.
When I pull into Beautiful Bathrooms, I’m pleased to see Bren’s Ute is the only vehicle left in the parking lot.
I turn off the ignition and wait, the setting sun casting a warm orange glow across the building’s large windows.
I’m nervous as hell and glad when Bren appears five minutes later.
Without questioning myself further, I step out of my car and walk towards him.
The moment he finishes locking the door and turns in my direction, his face hardens. Shit, he’s already mad. I hold up my palms in an attempt to placate him. “Bren, I just want to talk. Please?” I stop a few feet away. “We could grab a beer or a coffee. I really want to apologise.”
Bren walks straight past me towards his Ute, refusing to make eye contact.
“Consider yourself forgiven,” he throws over his shoulder. “Leave the past in the past, Davies.”
I trail after him, then push past to stand in front of his driver’s side door.
“What the fuck, Davies?”
Our eyes lock for a beat, then he quickly averts his gaze. This is going to be harder than I thought. “Bren, why can’t we be friends? I just want to catch up.”
“Kyle, get the fuck out of my way.” Bren looks down, shaking his head. “We were never friends, and I’m married. You’re married too, in case you forgot.”
Bren’s head suddenly shoots up and he pins me with an accusing look. “You got any kids?”
I frown, taken aback. “Yeah, I do. A daughter. She’s fifteen.”
Bren huffs, his nostrils flaring. “So maybe you should go home and focus on your kid. You always wanted to be a dad, don’t fuck it up now.”
My gaze drops to my feet as a wave of guilt hits me. I consider giving up right now, just getting in my car and not saying another word. But I need to do this.
Taking in steadying breath, I look up and let him see the real me, and my pain. His shoulders visibly relax almost immediately.
“Bren, I care about you, and I want you in my life.”
He chuckles sarcastically. “Kyle, if you fuckin’ cared about me, you wouldn’t have left me to rot in prison. If you wanted me in your life, you would’ve visited me and been there when I got out. It’s too damn late now.”
I stare back at him, mouth opening and closing like a dumb fish as I try to form words, but his anger is justified. “That’s why I—I wanna talk,” I finally say, stumbling over my words. “But not here. One beer, Bren. Please?”
Bren moves the tiniest step closer, his voice dropping low. “What the fuck does your husband think of all this? Does he know you’re here? Does James know we used to be fuck buddies?”
At first, my heart sinks at his words, but it’s quickly replaced with anger. How dare he reduce our relationship to just fucking.
I step forward, leaning in close. “Maybe I don’t give a fuck about what James thinks.
” I push past Bren, bumping him hard on the shoulder as I walk to my car.
Without another glance, I slide into the front seat and screech out of the parking lot.
When I look in the rear-view mirror, Bren remains rooted to the spot, watching me leave.
Instead of heading straight home, I drive around listening to depressing music—ballads from my youth about lost love and broken hearts. Painful memories rear up, vivid and visceral, filling me with shame. I call Lu to check if she’s okay and find out James is already home.
The last thing I want to do is face my husband. James has made it clear he wants to have sex tonight and after that shitshow with Bren I don’t know if I can do it.
Stopping at a convenience store, I buy a pack of cigarettes and light up.
I stopped smoking years ago when Lu was born, but occasionally I fall back into old habits, especially when I’m riding out a manic phase or just feeling anxious.
I’m not sure what this is though, feeling both flat and agitated at the same time.
What Bren said hit a nerve; not just the insinuation that our relationship was nothing more than casual sex, but because he brought up what James would think.
James treats me like I’m nothing more than a possession, a pretty decoration to be displayed like a trophy, and a servant to tend to his house and child.
Here I am, almost forty, and my husband treats me like a child, telling me what to do and controlling my every move.
But I don’t need James’s permission to see Bren. Or get a job. Or for fucking anything else, for that matter. I’ve put up with this for too damn long already.
Starting up the engine, I pull out of the convenience store parking lot and head in the opposite direction of home, needing more time to think.
I had expected Bren to be angry for what I did all those years ago, and I accept that, because I deserve it.
But we were so damn young. We both did stupid things back then and hurt each other.
Surely Bren can find it in his heart to forgive me. The alternative is too painful to bear.
Pulling into the driveway an hour later, I get a call from James. “I’m in the garage,” I say, bypassing formalities.
“Lucinda said you went out for a drink with a friend.”
“Yeah, I did. Lily wanted to bitch about her divorce again. I’m coming in now.
” When I enter, James yells out that they had pizza for dinner—reminding me that I didn’t bother to cook—and that there’s a couple of slices left on the kitchen bench.
I try my best to eat, but I feel ill, and head upstairs to take a shower instead.
In bed later, there’s no more escaping James.
“What is going on, Kyle? Your moods have been up and down the last two days. Do you need an appointment with your psychiatrist, or is something else the matter?”
Ignoring him, I stare at my phone screen, scrolling through my Instagram feed. James turns onto his side, and I can feel his eyes on me, scrutinising. Resting the phone on my stomach, I focus on the ceiling as I consider my reply.
“It’s all good. Just that asshole at the gym. You know the guy I told you about? He pissed me off yesterday, but I shouldn’t let him get to me.”
“You want me to take care of it? I can threaten the gym with a lawsuit if they don’t revoke his membership.” James’s hand lands on my chest.
“I’m not a child, James. I can take care of myself.” I place my hand on top of his, putting a stop to his finger circling my nipple.
“I know you can, darling, but I like taking care of you.” He leans in and plants a kiss on my tightly closed mouth. I fight the instinct to pull away. “I also like it when you take care of me.”
James kisses down my chest and stomach, pushing my phone aside, each touch of his lips making my skin crawl. But, after agreeing to have sex with him this morning, I either need to put out or have a fight about it.
Less than fifteen minutes later, I’m thrusting half-heartedly into James from behind—there’s no way I’m looking him in the face—while he moans breathily, his voice too soft and too whiny.
He’s aging now, and I use it as another reason to be repulsed by him.
Fifteen years seems like a bigger age gap now that he’s fifty-four with a dad bod.
I know I sound like a shallow prick, just like I know that, if I still loved him, I wouldn’t give a shit about his body.
But the more my resentment builds, the more he turns me off.
His ass is saggy, and his sweat is slimy, and I swear his hole is getting loose even though we barely fuck anymore.
My mind wanders and I imagine I’m eighteen again, moving inside Bren.
I know it’s wrong, but it’s all I’ve got to hang onto right now.
My eyes fall closed as the fantasy takes hold, and the memories begin to flow freely.
Beautiful images of Bren’s flushed skin and swollen lips.
His fingers twisting in my hair and his thighs wrapped tightly around my hips.
I come, silently mouthing Bren over and over as my body shudders in twisted pleasure.
Hours pass and I remain awake, staring at the shadows in the room until they morph into grotesque forms. Thankfully, James is snoring beside me, having passed straight out after his orgasm, giving me time to think. Since seeing Bren again, it seems like the world has tilted on its axis.
I know with certainty that I was never in love with James. Sure, I loved him in the beginning, it was a way to escape my past, myself, even. But it had been too soon after Bren. I had rushed into it, far too young and immature, distracted by the gifts and holidays and fancy parties.
But none of that matters anymore because my heart is finally beating with a determined rhythm once again. Bren’s no longer a lost and distant memory. Now, he’s finally back within my grasp.
I slip out of bed and tiptoe to the walk-in robe, closing the door so I can turn on the light.
Up on the top shelf, I pull down a small, decorative box.
It contains keepsakes, mostly mementos from when Lu was a baby—her hospital ID, a lock of hair, her first tooth.
But there’s a few from my childhood too, reminders of my siblings, photos and such.
And there’s a single shell. The one I picked up off the beach the night Bren kissed me for the very first time.